ChorusWho [G]were those men, what [D]was the crimeFor [Am]which their lives were [Em]wastedDid they [G]rob
or rape, or [Am]was their fateAs the [B7]poet once re[Em]latedWere [G]those great Gaels of IrelandThe [Am]men
that God made [D]madTheir [Em]wars were never [Am]merryAnd/But [B7]all their songs were [Em]sad

Land [Em]of the Free meant [D]liberty To the [Am]U.S. Army's [Em]IrishTill [G]James K. Polk he [Am]sent them
south To [B7]civilize the [Em]SpanishIn a [G]war to extend [D]slavery And [Am]unjust exploit[Em]tationThey'd
[G]not repeat what [Am]Cromwell did To [B7]their poor Irish [Em]Nation

Chorus

At [Em]L'Angustura, [D]Irish blood [Am]Drenched the sun-baked [Em]clayAnd [G]Mexico still [Am]honours Those
brave [B7]men who died that [Em]day[G]But the worst was [D]yet to come In the [Am]hour that war was [Em]endedWhen
[G]General Scott hung the [Am]Irishmen To [B7]celebrate with [Em]vengeance